


Brilliant Disguise

by emn1936



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 12:03:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emn1936/pseuds/emn1936
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She fought down the hysterical urge to laugh as she wildly wondered whether she could overcome the confused mix of feelings she had for him and sink the dagger into his chest in order to protect Richard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Sire, you must listen to me,” Marian urged as she boldly reached out and laid a hand on the King’s arm. Her eyes blazed with the intensity of her resolve. “You must leave this place,” she told him. “Vasey and his men are on their way. They will not stop until they see you dead!” she cried.

 

“The Black Knights are loyal only to your brother and the Sheriff,” she told him. “Come away, my lord,” she pleaded. “While there is still time.”

 

Richard laid a hand over hers. “Are there none among the Knights who are loyal?” he asked softly.

 

Marian thought of Guy and dropped her gaze to the floor, conflicted as ever by her feelings for him. Though she would not condemn him by giving voice to his name, neither would she lie to her king.

 

“None, my lord,” she whispered. “There are none.”

 

She drew in a deep breath and raised her eyes to meet the King’s. 

 

“I fear that they are not far,” she told him. “Hood and his gang were gaining ground on them when Robin sent me on ahead to warn you, but I am not sure if they were successful in catching up to Vasey and his men.”

 

“And you were tasked with saving me?” Richard asked with an indulgent smile.

 

Marian’s temper flared as always when faced with a patronizing male.

 

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “If you would but listen and come with me!” She fought the childish urge to stomp her foot in frustration when he merely shook his head and smiled serenely.

 

“At least permit me to increase the size of your personal guard,” she pleaded.

 

Again, Richard shook his head. “There are men enough in and around this house,” he told her. “I do not wish to have my every move monitored by my guards.”

 

A sudden commotion outside the room silenced the retort poised on the tip of Marian’s tongue and she moved instinctively in front of her king. The door flew open and she was startled to see Guy, wild-eyed and out of breath, burst into the room. Blood matted his dark hair and trickled sluggishly down the side of his face from a wound hidden somewhere near his hairline. Her heart sank as he staggered toward them and her fingers gripped the handle of the dagger at her waist. She fought down the hysterical urge to laugh as she wildly wondered whether she could overcome the confused mix of feelings she had for him and sink the dagger into his chest in order to protect Richard.

 

Her gaze flew from Guy’s face when Robin strolled into the room only a few steps behind his nemesis. In a movement at direct odds with the relaxed confidence of his demeanor, he reached out with one hand and brutally shoved Guy to the floor. The Sheriff’s lieutenant swayed as he pushed himself to his knees.

 

“Robin!” The King’s voice rang out. “What in God’s name is going on?” he demanded.

 

Robin stepped forward, his sword gripped tightly in one hand. “My lord, this man was sent to kill you,” he stated grimly.

 

“Sire…” Guy struggled in an attempt to climb to his feet. Robin reached out with his free hand and grabbed a fistful of the other man’s hair, viciously yanking him back to his knees and laid the edge of his sword against the vulnerable column of his exposed throat.

 

“Not another move, Gisborne,” Robin growled. “Or I will slit your throat and end your miserable existence now.”

 

Marian watched fearfully as Guy subsided and sank back onto his heels. His gaze locked onto the King’s.

 

“My liege,” he began, entreaty evident in his voice.

 

Richard took a step forward and gently pushed away Marian’s protectively restraining hand. He moved across the room until he stood directly before the two men.

 

“Release him,” he ordered Robin, never taking his eyes from Guy’s face.

 

“Sire,” Robin protested. His grip instinctively tightened on Guy’s hair, causing the other man’s face to contort in a pained grimace.

 

“Robin,” the King said softly. “Release him now.”

 

Robin reluctantly let go of Guy’s hair as he slowly lowered his sword to his side. His entire body quivered with visible agitation at the King’s dangerous proximity to Guy, and Marian’s own tension was noticeable with every rapid, shallow breath she took.

 

Guy straightened his back as the King stood over him.

 

“Do you have it, Guy?” Richard asked. Marian was startled by the easy familiarity with which the King addressed the dark-haired man.

 

“No, my lord.” Guy shook his head and lowered his gaze.

 

“Guy.”

 

Disapproval and disappointment colored the King’s tone causing Guy to tip his head back and raise his gaze to meet the monarch’s.

 

“Hood has it.”

 

Richard turned his attention toward the sandy-haired man standing beside him and held out an imperious hand.

 

“If you please, Robin.”

 

Confusion marred Robin’s handsome features.

 

“I… I don’t…”

 

“The pact,” Guy growled. “The King wishes to see the pact.”

 

Robin’s gaze darted around the room, almost relieved when he realized that everyone else was just as bewildered as he. Everyone, it seemed, with the exception of the King and Guy who appeared to be holding a wordless communion. He reached into his tunic and withdrew the parchment, handing it over with obvious confusion.

 

“We found Gisborne trying to escape with this on his person,” he told the King.

 

Richard unfolded the document and ran his eyes over the list of names at the bottom.

 

“Did everyone sign?” he asked.

 

“Yes, my lord,” Guy replied.

 

The King barked out a short laugh. “What took so long?”

 

Marian and Robin shared looks of complete bafflement at the strange exchange between the two men.

 

“Some were… reluctant to sign,” Guy admitted.

 

“Ahhh…” the King nodded. “So some felt at least a remnant of loyalty,” he guessed with a satisfied tone.

 

“No, my lord,” Guy explained. “More a reluctance to provide written evidence of their treachery.”

 

Richard continued to study the document in his hands. “I see your name here, near the top, Guy,” he remarked idly.

 

“Indeed, my lord.” 

 

Marian was startled by the familiar smirk on Guy’s face and his almost flippant response.

 

“It would have been difficult to convince the others to sign if I was not willing, even eager, to do so myself,” he continued.

 

Richard made a face. “Mmmm-hmmm,” he conceded dryly. “I do see your point.” He rolled the parchment and idly tapped it against the palm of one hand.

 

‘I trust you did not coerce anyone into signing.”

 

“Of course not, my lord.” A trace of indignation colored Guy’s voice. “The names there represent men who have willingly embraced treason against the Crown.”

 

“All but one, eh?”

 

“All but one, Sire.” Guy confirmed and looked steadily into his King’s face to see the monarch’s lips quirk into a small smile. Only then did he allow himself to relax as, with a pained sigh, he sank back onto his heels and dropped his chin onto his chest.

 

Richard reached down and stroked one hand over Guy’s bowed head.

 

“Well done, lad,” he said softly. “Come. Rise, Sir Guy.”

 

The King held out a hand and helped Guy to his feet.

 

“My lord!” Robin protested hotly. “This man is a traitor!”

 

“No, Robin,” the King flatly denied. “He is loyal.”

 

“Marian,” Robin cried. “Tell him.”

 

“Sire.” Marian stepped closer, bewilderment etched onto her lovely face. “Evidence would…” Her voice trailed off as Guy turned his face to hers. Tired resignation and betrayal played across his hawkish features.

 

“My lord,” she continued in a pained whisper. “Robin and I have known this man for several years now and have seen…” Her fingers toyed with the gold cross hanging around her neck in agitation. “I urge you to use caution,” she finished lamely.

 

Robin snorted in disgust as her unwillingness to lay bare the evidence of Guy’s many crimes. He opened his mouth to give voice to the damning litany but was stopped when the King lifted a forestalling hand.

 

“You have known him for several years,” he acknowledged. “But I have known him since he was a babe in his mother’s arms,” Richard said. “He is my godson.”


	2. Chapter 2

Richard graced Guy with an affectionate smile, pointedly ignoring the surprised gasps of the others in the room.

 

“You look like you could use some wine.” The King nodded toward a servant who had been hovering nervously near the door. “Bring some wine and food,” he ordered. “Enough for all.”

 

“Come,” he continued. “Let’s get you a chair.” Richard heartily clapped a hand on Guy’s shoulder. The younger man stumbled and would have fallen had it not been for Marian. She instinctively reached out, her hands sliding beneath his habitual leather coat and steadied him.

 

“Oh!” she exclaimed as she pulled one hand free. Her fingers were coated with the warm stickiness of his blood. “Guy, you’re injured!”

 

She began to peel the leather coat from his shoulders, pushing it roughly down his arms in an attempt to see the extent of his wounds.

 

“Marian.” Guy gasped and doubling over in pain, dropped his forehead weakly onto her shoulder. “Have a care,” he groaned.

 

“Sorry.” She snatched her hands away, afraid of causing him further pain.

 

Richard intervened. “Come. You will be more comfortable sitting down.” Marian offered a supporting arm, guiding the injured man to a chair and Guy sank into it with a grateful sigh.

 

The King beckoned a guard to his side. “Ride out to the main camp,” he instructed, “and bring back the physician.”

 

Marian shot a quick look at Djaq who stood with the rest of the gang and gave a relieved smile when the other woman’s head dipped in acknowledgment of her unspoken request.

 

“My lord,” Marian said softly. “We have a skilled healer among us.”

 

Robin stepped forward. “Now wait a minute, Marian,” he exclaimed. “You can’t just expect Djaq to −” 

 

Marian shook him off and turned her attention again to the other woman.

 

“Djaq?”

 

“Of course,” Djaq said in her lightly accented English as she crossed the room toward them.

 

Richard opened his mouth as if to protest and insist on summoning his physician but subsided when Guy waved a calming hand.

 

“It will be fine, my liege,” he murmured. “I have seen ample evidence of this woman’s skills in the healing arts.”

 

Djaq swallowed her surprise in the face of Guy’s easy acceptance of her offer of aid and the openness of his expression. Having seen plenty of evidence of his crimes with her own eyes and having little reason to put her faith in Richard’s endorsement of his character, she was understandably having difficulty in reconciling the quiet figure of a man before her with all that she thought she knew of him.

 

Shrugging off her disquiet, she sank to her knees next to his chair.

 

“I need to see the wound.” She stated the obvious. “It is impossible to judge how much damage there is with your shirt in the way.”

 

Marian began tugging his shirt free of the waistband of his breeches. “It’s all the black,” she said. “Really, Guy, your wardrobe is ridiculous.” Her chastising tone masked her worry over the extent of the wounds hidden beneath the dark fabric She peeled the material back while speaking, stopping only when Guy let out a pained hiss as the cloth stuck to his wound. He clamped a hand over hers to stop her movements.

 

“Marian,” he gritted. “It is possible that your skills lie more with a sword in hand or in the council room than they do in the art of nursing,” he said in a low groan.

 

Marian dropped her hands into her lap and nodded to Djaq to continue. The other woman lifted the edge of the cloth and peered beneath to study the manner in which it was adhering to the wound.

 

“I will need hot water, clean cloths and a number of other things,” she said and the King gestured to a waiting servant to attend her.

 

“This will be hot,” Djaq warned as she dipped a cloth into the basin of steaming water brought to her by the servant. Guy nodded and only the slightest flinching of his features gave an indication of his discomfort.

 

It will loosen the dried blood,” Djaq explained as she held the hot cloth in place. After the temperature had cooled, she set the cloth aside and again gently pulled on the edge of the material of Guy’s shirt. This time it gave way.

 

“I think it would be easier to cut this away,” Djaq mused, “rather than attempt to pull it over your head.”

 

She jumped back when Guy leaned abruptly forward and reached into his boot to withdraw a hidden knife. He flipped the weapon in his hand and offered it to her hilt first. Djaq took a moment to study the knife. The steel blade was honed to a razor’s edge and its handle was of sturdy, unadorned wood. A soldier’s weapon. No gems or gold inlay decorated the handle nor did its blade bear any intricate engraving. Deadly in its simplicity, Djaq acknowledged it as the vicious weapon it was.

 

Guy allowed his arms to dangle on either side of the chair and tipped his head back to allow Djaq access to the front of his clothing and she wondered at his ease in exposing those most vulnerable areas of the body – jugular, chest and abdomen – which are usually fiercely protected by any animal. Shrugging, she used the blade to neatly slice his shirt up the middle.

 

“I am just going to help you…” Djaq motioned for Guy to lean forward so that she could remove the now ruined material. She leaned close and studied the damage revealed. One long, continuous gash began on the right shoulder blade and continued all the way around, slicing deeply into the upper swell of his bicep and pectoral muscle and ending just above his naval. The wound was deep and ugly and its path made it clear that Guy had sustained it while spinning away from a deadly swipe.

 

“This wound is very deep and will require many stitches,” Djaq murmured. 

 

A tiny sound of dismay slipped from Marian’s lips and the other woman smiled at her sympathetically before continuing her examination. Djaq skimmed gentle fingers over a bruise which bloomed on his left shoulder and again over the swollen flesh along his side.

 

“You have two, maybe three broken ribs,”she stated matter-of-factly, “and this will be sore for many days,” she said as she gestured toward the livid bruise. 

 

“I see nothing that is life-threatening,” she said, “but it is almost impossible to know what is going on inside. If you develop a fever, feel a hardness in your belly or begin to cough blood, you must say something immediately.” She caught Guy’s gaze with her own, leaning forward to impress her point and Guy acknowledged her warning with a calm nod.

 

The King summoned the servant back to his side. “Prepare a bedchamber for Sir Guy,” he instructed, then turned his attention to Djaq. “Please let James know of anything you need,” he said, gesturing towards the hovering servant, “and he will see to it that it is brought to Sir Guy’s chamber.”

 

“I believe it would be better to stitch him up here,” Djaq murmured. “He needs to lie on a firm surface and I need a good deal of natural light,” she said as she nodded toward the windows.

 

Richard gestured to the servant and a long trestle table on the other side of the room was swept clear and wrestled into a position beneath the windows. A clean cloth was spread over the table and Djaq waited until Guy was seated on the surface before she approached him.

 

“Drink this.” She offered him a pewter cup filled halfway with a greenish colored liquid.

 

“What is it?” he asked with a cautious sniff of the cup’s contents.

 

“Something to help you sleep.”

 

“I have been stitched up many times before.” Guy held the cup out in refusal. “I don’t need to be drugged for it.”

 

“You have never had so many stitches,” Djaq countered. “I need to keep each stitch very small and place them close together in order to minimize the scarring. This will take a long time.”

 

“Scars don’t matter,” he sighed.

 

“And yet there is no reason for you to bear an ugly reminder of such a terrible wound for the rest of your life, nor should you have to suffer while it is being closed.” Unsure of why it was so important to her, but knowing that she did not want to see him suffer needlessly, Marian stepped forward and placed her fingers beneath the cup, urging it toward him. “Drink, Guy,” she said softly. “And when you wake up it will all be over.”

 

Guy sighed, helpless, as always, to deny her anything when she looked at him with such a pleading expression on her beautiful face. He took the cup from her hand and tipped it to his mouth, draining it in one gulp. He grimaced at the bitter taste and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth before handing the cup to Marian. 

 

“Do what you will,” he said. “But it is a scar I would proudly wear,” he told her.

 

“How did you come by this injury, Guy?” Richard asked, as Djaq helped Guy to lie on the table.

 

“Vasey,” Guy muttered as he stretched out onto his left side and watched Djaq bustle about bracing two small cushions and a mound of clean cloths against his torso.

 

“So that as your body relaxes in sleep you will be comfortable,” she explained.

 

“Vasey?” The King directed Guy’s attention back to the matter-at-hand. “Where is he now?”

 

“He’s dead,” Guy said, blinking as the drug began to take effect. “He did not go easily but I killed him.”

 

“You lie,” Robin snarled. 

 

“No,” Guy sighed. “’s dead.”

 

“You have had plenty of opportunities in the past to kill Vasey and you never took them,” Robin growled. “Why now?”

 

Guy shook his head to clear it. “Because he was coming here to kill the King,” he said simply.

 

“The Sheriff has long plotted to kill the King,” Marian pointed out.

 

“Yes,” Guy nodded. “But always before I was able to thwart him or convince him that the time was not right or distract him.” He looked up at Robin and Marian. “And if I could not do so on my own, I usually managed to find some way of bringing one or both of you into the picture.”

 

Marian’s cheeks burned at the thought of being manipulated in such a manner and Robin bristled at the implication that his actions were not wholly his own.

 

“But we’re supposed to believe that now was the perfect opportunity for you to dispose of the Sheriff?” he asked jeeringly.

 

“Yes.” Guy grimaced and shifted gingerly on the hard table, seeking a more comfortable position.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I had what I needed,” Guy sighed tiredly. “The pact was signed by all who would commit treason, including the Sheriff. I wanted to be finished with the job and could not be until Vasey was dead.”

 

Robin and Marian looked at one another in confusion.

 

‘Job,’ Robin mouthed and Marian shook her head, confusion evident in the furrowing of her brow.

 

“Sleep,” Richard ordered. “You will provide me with the details when you have rested.”

 

Djaq waited another moment until she was sure that Guy had slipped completely under the influence of the drug she had administered before picking up the threaded needle to begin the laborious task of stitching the gaping wound closed.

 

Richard gestured for a goblet of wine from a hovering servant and sank wearily into a chair on the other side of the room. A tired smile crossed his face at the hesitant approach of Robin and Marian.

 

“I’m sure you have many questions.” He gestured for them to be seated.

 

“Sire,” In light of Richard’s obvious affection for Gisborne, Robin trod lightly as he sought the right words. “It’s evident that you hold a great liking for Gisborne,” he began carefully. “I’m sure you knew him well in his youth,” he continued, “but we have borne witness to Gisborne’s actions in recent years.” He paused. “My lord, he is not the man you believe him to be.”

 

“Lady Marian?” The King looked toward her for confirmation.

 

“Your Majesty,” Unable to deny what she knew, Marian groped for the right words. “He served as Vasey’s lackey and showed no hesitation in carrying out any of his orders, no matter the cost in lives or property,” she said quietly.

 

“And if I told you he was carrying out my orders and not the Sheriff’s… what would you say then?”

 

Robin’s eyes grew huge. “I would not believe you, Sire,” he said thinking of the atrocities committed upon the people of Nottingham under Vasey’s rule.

 

“Ah, but it is true.” Richard settled back into his chair and took a deep sip of wine. “I’ve known of my brother’s treacherous plans for years and I knew that he was looking toward Vasey to help him carry them out.” He cast a brooding glance toward the other side of the room where Djaq labored over Guy’s wounds. “I ordered Sir Guy as one of the most trusted of my soldiers to infiltrate Vasey’s inner circle and to gather as much information as possible.”

 

“My lord, he did much more than gather information,” Robin spat. “Villagers have been taxed – literally to death! Men beaten to within an inch of their lives for minor infractions, or sent to prison for no reason other than not having the money to pay another ridiculous tax. Women and children thrown off their land, forced into prostitution or to become beggars on the street.”

 

Richard winced and nodded. “I know.”

 

“People have died, my lord,” Marian said softly. “Your people,” she stressed.

 

“On Vasey’s orders, but at Gisborne’s hand,” Robin sneered.

 

“I know,” the King repeated as his steady gaze met and held the younger man’s.

 

Marian shook her head. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “My lord, you said that you sent him to gain information for you, but they… but he…” She swallowed hard against the lump that rose to her throat. “Are you telling us that the people of Nottingham have suffered – and died – under your orders?”

 

Richard released a heavy sigh and stared unseeingly into the depths of the chalice in his hand.

 

“Once Sir Guy had gained Vasey’s trust, he quickly came to realize that the Sheriff and my brother were plotting not only to steal the treasures of England as I had originally believed, but to overthrow the monarchy by having me killed so that John could take the throne.” Richard scowled at the thought of his brother’s treachery.

 

“John has many in the peerage and the landed gentry on his side and it would not be enough to merely accuse him of treason,” he continued. “It was important that we have proof.”

 

“The pact,” Marian murmured.

 

“Yes,” the King nodded. “Sir Guy agreed to remain in Vasey’s household and obtain the proof we needed. It was he who planted the idea of the pact in the Sheriff’s head and he who worked tirelessly over the last two years in gathering the signatures of all those who would consent to commit regicide. And with that proof, I am in a position to remove the threat that is my brother.”

 

“But my lord,” Robin protested. “The crimes Gisborne perpetrated in Vasey’s name…”

 

“Were necessary to maintain the Sheriff’s trust and belief that he was nothing more than a bootlicker who would obey any order given to him.”

 

Robin and Marian each struggled to make sense of what the King was telling them and to reconcile this new image of Guy with the man they thought they knew.

 

Richard leaned forward in his chair and rested a gentle hand on each of theirs. “I know that this is much for you to absorb and understand,” he said quietly. “You’ve learned a great deal and I am sure that you have many other questions. I promise that in due time you will have your answers, but for now…” He squeezed their hands with his own.

 

“All is well,” he smiled. “And we will do what we can to heal the wounds in Nottingham.”


	3. Chapter 3

Marian sat in a chair near Guy’s bedside, quietly lost in thought. In repose, the sharp lines of his features were softened and beneath the heavy stubble of beard that covered his cheeks and jaw, his face was unnaturally pale. His hair lay in dark tangles about his face and stood in stark contrast to the crisp white linens of the pillow beneath his head while thick bandaging covered much of his torso.

 

She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest and wondered which man was the real Guy. At the best of times, Marian was confused by the push-pull of her feelings for him. With what she had learned from the King, she was quite simply dazed and disoriented. Everything she had believed to be true about him seemed now to be false and she found herself overwhelmed.

 

She stiffened as Guy stirred in the bed. He turned his head against the pillow and struggled to lift heavy eyelids. His lips curved upward in an unguarded, drowsy smile when he caught sight of her sitting vigil by his bed and she steeled herself against the instinct to smile back.

 

“How do you feel?” she asked.

 

“Thirsty,” he rasped. He struggled to sit up and Marian quickly rose to assist him. She poured a small measure of water into a waiting cup and held it to him.

 

“Small sips,” she instructed quietly and watched to be sure that he obeyed. When the cup was empty, she set it back on the table near the bed and sat down.

 

“Are you in pain?” she asked.

 

Guy shrugged. “No more than I can handle.”

 

Marian nodded and leaned back into her chair. They studied one another quietly for a moment before she broke the silence.

 

“You lied to me,” she accused.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Every day you pretended to be something that you are not.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You made a fool of me!” she cried. Humiliation stained her cheeks as remembered images of their past encounters played in her mind’s eye and she realized that though she thought she had been leading him along a merry path, in truth, he had been herding her along his own direction the way a sheepdog maneuvered its flock. That he had done so while pretending to be a lovesick swain under her influence was a particularly loathsome truth to swallow.

 

“No.”

 

“Yes!” she hissed, frustrated by his one syllable responses. “What did you hope to gain by claiming to be in love with me?” she brooded.

 

“I hoped to gain your love in return,” he said calmly.

 

“You are a liar,” she spat. “How can I trust anything you say?”

 

Guy tipped his head to one side and studied her intently. “I do not understand,” he murmured. “Are you angry because I did not bring you into my confidence? Or are you angry because I’m not the villain you believed me to be?”

 

“Do you think that the families whose loved ones died at your hands or whose homes were burned to the ground on your orders will forgive you because you now claim to have done so in the name of the King?” she asked coldly. “Do you think I should forgive you for the things you have done to me?” Her cheeks burned with indignation and humiliation at the thought that he had played her for a fool.

 

“And what have I done to you that is so unforgivable?” he wondered. “I offered you my love. I offered you my name and my protection.”

 

“You lied to me,” she cried. “Everything you said, everything you did… you let me think you were… and now it turns out that you are…” Her voice trailed off incoherently as angry tears pooled in her eyes.

 

“What would you have had me do?” he asked. “Would you have me betray my oath? Would you have me put you in danger by revealing the truth to you?”

 

“You claim to love me, but you don’t trust me!” she cried.

 

“It had nothing to do with whether I trust you or not,” he ground out. “I am a soldier. First and foremost, before anything else, my duty is to the king. To obey his directives. His safety is paramount above all else. Even my feelings for you.” 

 

Marian felt an uncontrollable rage building within her. ‘The King’ she though venomously. First Robin. Now Guy. Always, she was secondary to their king.

 

“Your feelings! Your feelings for me were just one more part of the lie,” she spat. Marian’s emotions were awash with confusion and betrayal and she lashed out like a cornered animal.

 

“My feelings were true,” he insisted. “When I asked you to stay… I meant it. Every time I told you that I loved you… I meant it. When I asked you to marry me… I meant it.” He scraped his hands through his hair and dug his fingers into his scalp. “You were the one thing I selfishly wanted for myself,” he murmured. “I told myself that if you could see through to the real me… then I was not completely lost.” His chin dropped to his chest in defeat. “But you never saw me then and even now… even now you find nothing in me of value.”

 

Marian steeled herself not to be swayed by his words. Words, she knew, were easy. It was actions by which she judged a person. 

 

“You say you love me but you lied to me. Every minute of every day was a lie.” Awash in a sense of betrayal, she swallowed down the lump in her throat. “Love does not lie,” she insisted, clinging to her girlish views of romance and love. “Love is true.”

 

Guy closed his eyes in despair of ever making her understand. “I was under the King’s orders to trust no one with my secret.”

 

“And we both know that you excel at following orders.” Marian laughed bitterly. “Richard’s orders. Vasey’s orders. It doesn’t matter whose, so long as you don’t have to think for yourself or make moral decisions on your own.”

 

His head snapped back at her harsh accusation though he said nothing in defense of himself.

 

“What did the King promise you in exchange for your service?” she asked snidely. “Did he promise you riches? A title? Wealth and land beyond imagination?

 

“He promised me nothing,” Guy’s face was a mask devoid of emotion.

 

“Then, pray, what was your motivation? A man like you expects something in return for his service.” Frustration at her failure to elicit a response from him; humiliation at having been played for a fool; at having believed his lies, pushed her to cruelty.

 

“Do you think that you and Hood are the only ones who understand duty and loyalty?” Guy demanded. “I lied to you because I had no choice.”

 

“There is always a choice −”

 

“No! I had sworn an oath to the King to tell no one.” He leaned toward her to force her to meet his gaze. “For years I put up with daily humiliation at the hands of the man I was sworn to destroy. I allowed Vasey to debase me and demean me in the presence of men of great power. I let him degrade and humble me, all the while knowing that you were looking on and witnessing my shame. I withstood Hood’s mockery and your belief that he was the better man - the just and righteous man. I withstood your feigned interest in me and the knowledge that you were using me to gather information to give to Hood to use against me.”

 

Guy rubbed his fingers across his forehead as if to knead away a headache brewing behind his eyes.

 

“Can you imagine what it was like for me to play a part that allowed the woman I loved to believe the most contemptible things about me? Do you not think that I wanted to shout the truth to the heavens? To tell you and everyone else that I was on the side of right and good?”

 

He slumped against the pillows, exhausted. “Do you have any idea of difficult it was for me to carry through on Vasey’s orders? To go against my instinct as a knight of the realm to protect and instead bring hurt to innocent people? Can you imagine what it has been like for me these last few years with no one to confide in; no one to believe in me?” he asked quietly. “I used to comfort myself by imagining what it would be like if I could tell you the truth.” He gave a self-mocking snort. “I would lie awake at night and picture the look on your face – pride and love replacing the disgust I had grown accustomed to seeing.” 

 

He laughed harshly at his own naïveté. “But I see that I was fooling myself,” he said. “Because apparently everything that I have endured pales in comparison to the humiliation you now feel.”

 

He stared past her into the glowing coals in the fireplace. 

 

“He offered me nothing,” he repeated in a dull monotone. “I secured no personal reward for my service and instead have lost everything I had hoped to gain.”

 

Shattered at the outpouring of honest emotion she had witnessed, Marian pressed a clenched fist against her lips. “Guy, I… I…”

 

He rolled his head against the pillow and closed his eyes.

 

“Please leave.”

 

“Guy,” she whispered plaintively, but his only response was to raise his uninjured arm and shield his face behind the crook of his elbow.

 

Marian stood and reached out with one trembling hand as if to touch him, but his tense stillness fairly screamed for her to keep her distance. She smoothed her hands over her skirts and drew herself to her full height. Knuckling away the tears running freely down her cheeks, Marian silently left the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Marian had been gone not more than an hour’s time when another knock rattled the door which swung open before Guy could bid the person on the other side to enter or take leave. An armed guard stepped through the portal, eyes alert and back ramrod straight as the King swept into the room.

 

Richard flicked a dismissive hand toward the guard who paused and cast a considering look at the man struggling to rise to his feet at the King’s appearance. Used to his orders being instantly obeyed, the King turned his head and lifted an astonished eyebrow at the guard’s hesitation which served as a catalyst to send the man into the hallway with a hasty bow.

 

The King waved Guy back into his bed and dropped heavily into the chair recently vacated by Marian. “It seems you played the role of villain well, Guy,” Richard drawled with a wry glance at the retreating back of the guard as he pulled the door shut behind him. “Even my word does not seem to be enough to dispel the tales of your purportedly treasonous deeds.”

 

“My lord.” A sudden flush rode high on Guy’s cheekbones as he nodded in agreement with his king. He schooled his features into a passive mask but the King noted the sudden clenching of his fists in the covers draped over his legs.

 

“My apologies,” Richard offered in a conciliatory voice. “I spoke without thinking, meaning only to jest,” he said. “I intended no offense, Guy.”

 

“None was taken, my lord.”

 

“My lord. My lord,” Richard scoffed. “Have we not known each other long enough and well enough that at least here, in the privacy of your chamber, we may speak with one another familiarly?” The King stretched his legs out and leaned back in his chair. “As I now think on it - as your godfather, should you not call me ‘Uncle Richard’?” he smirked.

 

“Uncle Richard”, Guy snorted. “You were but eight years of age at my birth and were given the role by my parents as little more than an honorary title.”

 

“Yes, but the honor was all yours,” Richard retorted good-naturedly. “I think you go too far in deeming it an honor bestowed upon me by your parents,” the King murmured. “By the time you were two, you were a pure annoyance to me – following me everywhere I would go when your family came to visit at the country estate,” he remembered.

 

“Yes, Uncle, but that was only because you knew where to find the best frogs,” Guy murmured.

 

“Aye, it is true,” Richard sighed. “Even as a lad, I was a superior hunter.”

 

“Indeed, my liege, you were magnificent.” Guy rolled his eyes for form and the two men grinned at one another.

 

The smile lingered on the King’s face for a moment before his features took on a more solemn look.

 

“You grew to be a masterful hunter yourself, Guy.” Richard gazed thoughtfully at the younger man over steepled fingers. “You showed great patience and cunning in rounding up your prey and eliminating my enemies. I am grateful.”

 

Guy shrugged in response to the King’s praise. “There will always be those who would plot against the Crown,” he noted dully.

 

“Yes,” Richard agreed. “But these, at least, have been thwarted in their plans.” He looked down and studied the heavy gold ring on his finger bearing the great seal of England. “I believe it is time to persuade my brother that in light of recent events, it is in his best interests to give up his cause.”

 

“He will cry prettily for your forgiveness,” Guy cautioned.

 

“And as he is my heir until I have a son of my own, I will likely grant it, though I shall remember from this day forward not to turn a blind eye to his ambitions,” Richard responded. “I am thinking of tasking young Locksley with presenting my terms to John. What think you of that?”

 

“He is smart and cunning and very little escapes his notice,” Guy said slowly. “He is skilled with bow and sword. But most importantly, he has a hard, bright, blind loyalty to Your Highness,” he said. “He would be well-suited.”

 

“This is not a task you would prefer to take on yourself?” the King wondered.

 

Guy rubbed a hand over his jaw and looked up. “I am weary of the entire matter and would be pleased to turn things over to Locksley,” he sighed.

 

Richard nodded and set the matter aside. “Well, then.” He slapped his hands onto his legs. “Then let us turn our attention to more pleasant matters,” he said.

 

“Such as…?” Guy eyed the grin wreathing the King’s face with an abundance of caution.

 

“’Tis just the little matter of your reward.”

 

Guy shook his head vehemently. “No.”

 

“Come now, Guy,” the King began.

 

“I seek no reward,” Guy responded stubbornly.

 

“You have done me a great service,” the King argued. “You are well-deserving of my generosity. Would you deny me the pleasure?”

 

“Richard,” Guy pleaded. “If you love me even a little, you will let this be.”

 

“I do not understand,” the King admitted. “Why should I not reward you for a job so faithfully and admirably performed?”

 

“There is nothing admirable in what I have done!” Guy exploded.

 

“Saving my Crown is not admirable?” the King asked coolly.

 

Guy closed his eyes. “You well know that is not what I meant,” he murmured. Lifting his head he held the King’s gaze with his own. “I would do anything to protect the Crown. I have done many things… many terrible things in order to achieve my goal. I have done my job and would do so again… but in doing so I have destroyed an already ruined name beyond redemption.”

 

“Guy,” the King’s tone gentled. “Do not berate yourself so,” he chided softly. 

 

“How do I not, my lord?” Guy asked. “Many innocent people suffered at my hand.”

 

“You had little choice,” Richard murmured.

 

“I do not believe that the people of Nottingham would agree,” Guy countered.

He rolled his head against the pillow and stared at the wall on the opposite side of the room.

 

“It is a sad, but true fact that the innocent are often the first casualties in a war,” Richard reminded him.

 

“In war, yes,” Guy agreed grimly. “But this… this was not… there was no war.”

 

“Do not fool yourself into believing otherwise, Guy,” the King warned. “You were a soldier tasked with a duty by your King. And though none but I were even aware of it, each day you went into battle – alone - using your wits and cunning to stay alive, to see the job through to its completion. That others suffered and died along the way is tragic and regrettable but is not the end result worth the pain?”

 

“If I could do it all over again,” Guy murmured, “I… I do not know if there was a better way. John and Vasey had to be stopped and staying in Vasey’s confidence seemed the most expedient way of thwarting their plans.” 

 

His fist clenched in the rumpled bedcovers. “But I will be forever haunted by the faces of those I wronged along the way.” He squeezed his eyes closed and took a long, shuddering breath. 

 

“If you want to reward me,” he said slowly, “release me from service. I wish for little more than to seek a far off corner of the world where I can find a small measure of peace.”

 

The King’s immediate reaction was to balk at the thought of losing so fine and loyal a soldier. But having commanded many in battle over the years, he also knew that all men had their breaking points and he feared that Guy was fast approaching his own.

 

“A plot of land of your own?” the King smiled softly. “Would that I could restore the Gisborne lands to you, Guy,” he murmured regretfully.

 

A muscle ticked dangerously in Guy’s jaw, the only indication of the tension that consumed him when he thought of his family’s ancestral home. The Gisborne lands were home now to a powerful baron whose wealth, and more importantly, whose infantry and archers, were of vital importance to the Crown. Guy knew well that Richard could not – and would not – risk offending the baron and suffer the loss of his financial and military support.

 

“Well, if we are to set you up with a nice piece of land of your own,” the King mused, “you will also need a wife to provide you with heirs so that you will have someone to whom you can pass your name and land.”

 

Guy snorted out a laugh that was at once tired and cynical. “Pray, where do I find a woman who would be willing to saddle herself and her future children to so tarnished a name?”

 

“I do not know.” The King leaned comfortably back in his chair, sharp eyes trained on the other man’s face. “Perhaps the Lady Marian would consider it.” He carefully hid a speculative smile at Guy’s reaction to Marian’s name as one emotion after another contorted his features ranging from hope to resignation.

 

“I am sure she would not,” Guy muttered.

 

“And why not?” Richard asked. “The lady seems to hold some affection for you,” he said, thinking of the open concern Marian had displayed upon the realization that Guy had been badly injured as well as her reluctance to lay bare what she believed to be his many crimes.

 

“Trust me when I tell you that my Lady Marian’s affections are engaged elsewhere.”

 

“And how come you by this knowledge?” the King pressed. “I am not so sure as you that there is no room for you in the lady’s heart.”

 

“She and young Locksley were promised to one another as children and you have only to see her with him to know it is true,” Guy said. “With him there is a softness to her. She is all lightness and sparkling happiness, no matter how hard she might try to hide it. And with me…” His voice trailed off into a bitter silence.

 

“And with you?” Richard prodded.

 

“And with me she is all false affection or barbed accusations.”

 

“Are you so sure that her affections for you are false?” the King asked. “Have you considered that her prickliness is a sign that you rouse strong emotions in her?”

 

“Hatred, perhaps,” Guy brooded. “Disgust, certainly.”

 

“The line between love and hate is very thin,” Richard noted softly.

 

“I beg of you, Richard. Do not torture me with things that can never be!” Guy snarled. “You know nothing of which you speak and your words are of little comfort.”

 

Richard lifted both hands in surrender and stood. “It is evident that you are tired,” he soothed. “I shall leave you now and we shall speak again later after you have had a nap.”

 

“Do not speak to me as if I were a child to be placated,” Guy growled heatedly.

 

“And you should not forget that you are speaking with your King,” Richard shot back with equal heat.

 

“One minute my uncle; the next my king,” Guy muttered under his breath. “You change your mind more often than a woman,” he snapped as he flopped back against the pillows.

 

Richard said nothing, only raising a brow in response to the other man’s insolence. Stepping closer to the bed, he laid a hand on the crown of Guy’s head.

 

“Sleep,” he counseled, forgiveness evident in the touch of his hand. “Sleep, and we will speak again.”

 

Guy’s ill-tempered shrug was his only acknowledgment of the King’s words. As the door swung closed behind the monarch, he closed his eyes where his last confrontation with Marian played in colorful and bitter clarity.


	5. Chapter 5

There was a nook at the base of the first flight of stairs with a recessed window. Looking for a place to be alone after her row with Guy, Marian tucked herself into the small space. She leaned against the wall and let the tears track down her cheeks unchecked. 

 

As ever, Marian was confused by the wash of conflicting emotions she felt almost every time she had an encounter with Guy. What was it about the man that caused so much uncertainty to roil deep within her? 

 

She closed her eyes, desperate to wipe away the memory of the look of pure anguish on his face as he recounted to her his own abhorrence of the sufferings of others at his hands. She remembered the pleading look in his eyes as he begged her to believe the truth of his love for her and was inexplicably moved when he spoke of his despair that she would never know the truth of who he was.

 

And who was Guy of Gisborne, she wondered as she opened her eyes to stare sightlessly through the window. Was he Vasey’s sycophant? The man she had watched over the years with the streak of cruelty which allowed him to mistreat and abuse those living in the lowliest of situations? Or was he the soldier forced by duty to perform the most reprehensible of acts?

 

Her head ached as each thought tumbled about in her mind leaving chaos and uncertainty in their wake. She thought of the people of Nottingham and remembered how often the mere sight of the Sheriff’s lieutenant riding his black charger through the village was enough to instill terror in even the strongest of men.

 

Pressing her forehead against the wall, her eyes fluttered closed again as his voice echoed in her mind as he spoke of his isolation, and she felt his loneliness wash over her.

 

She dashed the tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands and wondered why she found herself so disturbed by the note of betrayed anger which had colored the words he had flung so bitterly at her. And she wondered why the knowledge that he had been false with her all of this time should bother her. She did not understand why she found such disappointment in the knowledge that he had been withholding his true self from her.

 

“Why does it disturb me so?” She rubbed a closed fist over her heart. “Why do I feel so betrayed by his deceit? It is not as if I love him,” she reminded herself in a fierce whisper.

 

“My lady?”

 

Startled by the sound of the King’s voice, Marian scrubbed the remaining tears from her face and whirled about.

 

“Sire,” she gasped. 

 

“My apologies, Lady Marian,” the King offered. “I did not mean to startle you. Are you unwell, milady?”

 

“Majesty,” Marian forced her lips to curve into a shaky smile. “I appreciate your concern, but I am well, thank you.”

 

The King stretched out a hand and drew her from the tiny nook in which she had wedged herself. “I would believe you, were the evidence not to the contrary.” He nodded toward the tear tracks still evident on her cheeks. “I have left Sir Guy but a moment ago in quite a sour mood,” Richard noted with a glance up the staircase. “And now I fear that he is the source of your current distress.”

 

Marian dashed a hand against the tell-tale moisture on her face and straightened her back. “Sir Guy and I rarely see eye-to-eye,” she admitted. “Tis nothing new and certainly nothing with which Your Majesty need concern himself.”

 

“I hope he comported himself as a gentleman,” the King said softly. “Though I would not be surprised to hear otherwise,” he admitted, “given the rapid descent from civility found in my own recent dealings with him…” Richard let his voice trail off and injected it with a note of sadness.

 

“In what way was your conversation unsatisfactory, my lord?” Marian encouraged, sensing that the King was disturbed by his recent visit with Guy.

 

“I spoke with Sir Guy regarding the small matter of a reward for his loyal service,” the King said and Marian felt a swift stab of disappointment that she had been right after all in her belief that the impetus for Guy’s service had been to seek ample opportunity for himself.

 

“I thought to offer him land and a generous title – either outright or perhaps through marriage to a titled lady,” Richard said. “But he refused me the pleasure of bestowing such a gift upon him!” he said, indignant outrage causing his voice to rise sharply.

 

The King looked down at Marian. “Again, I find I must apologize, Lady Marian, this time for my unseemly outburst. But I find that man to be obstinate and frustrating.” A rueful smile crossed his face. “An unfortunate trait of his with which it seems you have personal experience.” 

 

Distracted by the thought of Guy marrying a woman of title and fortune, Marian gave a wan smile in response to the King’s words.

 

“Instead of accepting my generous offer,” he sighed, “Sir Guy has asked to be released from my service.” His expression now was pensive. “He says that he wishes to be allowed to seek some small corner of the world where he can be at peace.”

 

A sudden smile brightened his face. “Perhaps he will find some pink-cheeked country lass who will give him many chubby babies to carry on his name.”

 

If the thought of Guy locked into a dutiful marriage to an heiress was enough to give Marian pause, the image of him finding pleasure and comfort in the lusty arms of some milk maid was enough to cause her stomach to lurch with something she vaguely recognized as jealousy.

 

She was dimly aware that the King was still speaking and struggled to tear her thoughts away from the image of some faceless woman whose belly was ripe with Guy’s child.

 

“… which brings me to you, my Lady,” the King was saying.

 

“My lord?” Marian shook her head to clear it of its treacherous thoughts.

 

“Will you walk with me?” Richard drew her hand into the crook of his arm and led her down the remaining flight of stairs. “I was saying that I had the pleasure of meeting your parents on two occasions.” He paused and raked his gaze over her face. “You have the look of your mother,” he commented. “She too was a lovely woman.”

 

“I… thank you, Sire,” she stammered.

 

“I was sorry to learn of your father’s passing,” the King said kindly. Marian swallowed hard against the sudden lump which built in her throat and nodded her thanks.

 

“I am sure you are anxious to return to Knighton.”

 

“I am, Majesty.”

 

“Of course, the estate cannot be permitted to go lordless for much longer,” the King commented idly.

 

“My lord?” Marian stopped dead in her tracks, causing the King to pause alongside her.

 

“Come, my lady. Surely you understand that you must marry to secure the prosperity of Knighton.”

 

“I do not see why I need a husband for that!” Marian retorted sharply. The King’s widening eyes at her tone of voice caused her to drop her head in obeisance. 

 

“All women of title should be married,” the King said breezily. “For their own safety and for the safety of their lands and tenants.” Richard squeezed her hand companionably and resumed their leisurely pace.

 

“You need a husband to love and protect you and to give you children to tend,” he intoned pompously. He stopped and looking down into her face, spoke in a lowered voice.

 

“I confess that I had been thinking of Sir Guy for you,” he said in a confidential murmur. “I was hoping that you would consider him as a potential mate,” he admitted. “Knighton and a lady so fair as you would be an ample reward for Guy’s services and with your beauty and his wits – ahhh…” he sighed. “What beautiful babies you would bear.”

 

The King paused, allowing that image to form in her mind’s eye before continuing on. “Of course, I realize that your good father may have already promised your hand to another,” he said blithely. “And, in fact, you have done me a great service yourself, not only by coming here to warn and protect me, but in your devoted care for my people back home,” he intoned. “I would, of course, wish to honor any pledges made for your hand before I would go so far as to make arrangements for your future without first consulting you.”

 

“I… my lord… there is someone,” she stammered. “That is to say that there has long been an understanding between my family and his, well… that is… we have pledged ourselves but have made no definitive plans…” She pressed her lips together to stop herself from rambling any further. Withdrawing her hand from the King’s warm grasp, she pressed it against her suddenly trembling stomach.

 

“Your Majesty.” She touched her fingers to her suddenly aching brow. “I beg your leave to take my rest. I am suddenly quite tired.”

 

Richard graced her with a benevolent smile. “Of course, my dear. It has been a long few days,” he granted. “Please, go and find your rest.”

 

Marian dipped into a hurried curtsey and the King watched with a satisfied smile as Marian fled his side.

 

The seed had been sown, he thought. Now, we will see what flourishes.


	6. Chapter 6

It had taken some time after the King’s visit for Guy to relax and it seemed that no sooner had he fallen into a light doze than he was startled awake by a rapping on the door.

 

For God’s sake, he seethed silently. How is a body to heal when it cannot rest!

 

“Come!” he snarled as he did his best to shove himself into a seated position.

 

A tall man with the build of a soldier and the dark skin of an African pushed through the doorway. A string of wooden rosary beads hung from his belt above one hip, a lethal-looking sword rested comfortably in a scabbard against the other.

 

“Sir Guy.” The man approached and stood at the foot of the bed. “Permit me to introduce myself,” he said as he folded his hands over his flat stomach. “I am Tuck. King Richard thought that you may wish to speak with me.”

 

Guy studied the incongruous combination of monk and warrior in the man’s odd manner of dress.

 

“Who… or rather, what are you?” he asked.

 

“Tuck,” the other man repeated. “I was trained by the good fathers at Fountains Abbey as a priest and by my own father to be skilled in the use of arms.” He shrugged. “I serve as both the King’s spiritual guide and, on more than one occasion, as his bodyguard, depending on what the situation warrants.” He offered a conspiratorial grin. “I am sure that you can imagine that the former is often more difficult a task than the latter.”

 

“And His Majesty told you that I asked to speak with you?” Guy asked with mounting confusion.

 

“I believe the King feels that it would do you well to speak with a man of the cloth,” Tuck countered.

 

Despite knowing full well that he was culpable of many sins, Guy was surprised by the crushing sense of disappointment he felt at the realization that by sending the friar to him, the King had confirmed that he too knew that Guy’s soul was stained by the crimes perpetrated against the people of Nottingham and that his earlier words about a soldier’s duties in the time of war were just that – empty words.

 

“The King… sent you to hear my confession,” Guy clarified slowly.

 

Tuck removed his sword and scabbard and dropping into a chair near the bed, he propped the weapon within easy reach. He settled comfortably into the depths of the chair and his fingers idly played with the wooden beads of the rosary hanging from his belt.

 

“I would be glad to listen to your confession, if you wish to give it,” the priest offered kindly. “However, I believe that the King merely thought you could use a sympathetic ear and a spiritual hand.”

 

Guy cast his eyes about the room, unsure of what to say. A long uncomfortable silence filled the air as he searched helplessly for what to do next. A sidelong glance toward the other man showed that the priest’s fingers continued to dance easily over the wooden beads and the rapid movements of the man’s lips indicated that he was reciting the Pater Noster. Reluctant to interrupt the man at prayer, Guy subsided against the pillows.

 

“I am happy to sit with you if you wish for companionship.” Tuck’s quiet voice broke the silence. “I would also be glad to speak with you on whatever matter you would like to discuss.”

 

“How…” Guy paused to clear his throat. “How do you confess to sins for which there can be no forgiveness?”

 

“Forgiveness from whom?” Tuck asked. “From the people you have harmed? From yourself? Or from God?”

 

“Any,” Guy whispered hoarsely. “Either. All.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Who could forgive the crimes I have committed?”

 

“Earning forgiveness from the people you have harmed will be difficult, for you must go to them and prove you are remorseful,” Tuck told him honestly. 

 

“Would it not cause more harm than good for me to return and remind them of my crimes?”

 

“More harm to you, perhaps, for you must withstand their hatred for however long it takes until you are able to make reparation and show them the true extent of your repentance.”

 

“Make reparation,” Guy murmured. “There is not enough gold in the world to compensate the people of Nottingham for my sins,” he said. “And despite others’ belief to the contrary, I am not a wealthy man.”

 

Tuck offered a sympathetic smile. “Reparation in word. In deed and in prayer,” he countered. 

 

Guy dropped his chin to his chest and his dark hair swung forward to obscure his face.

 

“And the rest?” he asked from his hiding place.

 

“Forgiveness from yourself will likely be the most difficult of all to obtain,” Tuck observed. “If you are truly a good man – a man of honor – it will be hardest for you to reconcile the code by which you wish to live your life against the actions you took in it.”

 

The friar leaned forward and laid a strong hand on Guy’s arm.

 

“But forgiveness from God is the simplest of all,” he said with a smile in his voice. “For our Lord wants nothing more than to offer His love and forgiveness to those of who have failed and strayed but who are truly remorseful for their actions.”

 

Guy’s hand clenched in the covers and his shoulders shuddered with the violent suppression of emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

 

Tuck rattled the sword in its scabbard. “There are times when duty calls us to wield the sword,” he said. “God knows this.” He rose from his chair and removed the rosary from his belt. “And then, there are times when we are called to prayer and reflection,” he said, and pressing the wooden beads into Guy’s hands, he laid an encouraging hand on his shoulder. 

 

“I have been away from the Church for too long, Father.” Guy explained that the necessity of maintaining his cover in Vasey’s service precluded him from attendance at daily Mass. “What if God has forgotten me?”

 

“Oh, God does not forget. He does not forsake. You have only to ask for His forgiveness and it will be there for the taking.”

 

Guy struggled to remember the words he had learned as a child. “Mea culpa… mea culpa, mea maxima culpa,” he murmured in a rusty recollection of morning Mass.*

 

“Indulgentia, absolutionen et remissionem peccatorum nostrorum, tribuat nobis ominpotens et misericors Dominus.” Tuck said in response.** “Now, would you like me to hear your confession?”

 

Haltingly, agonizingly, Guy laid bare his soul and detailed his sins. And as his lips moved silently along with the friar’s soft prayers, he could not help but think that while God’s forgiveness was welcome, it was Marian’s which was vital to his continued existence.

 

**********

 

Dawn broke over the horizon the next morning and found Marian already awake as sleep had come to her in only fits and starts throughout the evening.

 

She leaned against the cool stone of the window frame and pensively watched the ever-changing colors of the early morning sky. Recent events played over and over in her mind - from the long voyage from England to her fears that Guy was going to murder the King to the realization that all that she had believed to be true was false. And ever in the background was a drum beating out the knowledge that Guy was leaving for places unknown. 

 

That she may never see him again brought both liberation and a gaping sense of loss.

 

The sun climbed higher in the sky. Unable to bear being cooped up in her chambers any longer she splashed cool water over her face and dressed for the day. She pulled her thick hair over one shoulder and secured it near the base with a strip of leather. Stepping into her shoes, she pulled open the door and began to make her way down the long hall toward the stairs.

 

Halfway to the staircase, she was startled by the opening of another door. Guy stepped through the frame. His appearance was haggard; his movements those of a much older man as he favored his injuries.

 

“You should still be in bed,” Marian blurted, concerned by the pain evident in his eyes.

 

“I could not stand being locked up in that room for another moment,” he admitted.

 

Marian’s lips began to curve upward at the realization that his actions echoed hers but this was quickly swallowed by the sudden remembrance of her anger with him.

 

“Do as you will,” she sniffed. “You are a stupid man.”

 

Startled, Guy held out his hands in supplication. “Morning has just broken,” he noted. “What could I possibly have done today to already enrage you so?”

 

She stalked right up to him and shoved her face into his. “Men!” she spat. “You call us fickle, but you are the ones who are unfaithful.”

 

“Unfaith −” Guy reached out to grab Marian’s hand but she snatched it quickly out of his reach. “Marian, what the devil are you talking about?”

 

“Devil indeed!” she snarled. “One minute you are declaring your undying love for me, and the next thing I know you are rolling about in the hay with some farmer’s buxom daughter!”

 

“Buxom −” Guy shook his head in bewilderment. “Marian,” he asked suspiciously. “Have you been drinking unwatered wine?”

 

“The King told me of your plans,” she hissed.

 

“My plans?” he repeated slowly.

 

“Yes! Your plan to move away to some godforsaken corner of England and tumble a country maid until she is heavy with your child!” Marian was horrified. She could hear herself ranting incoherently and was unable to stop herself.

 

Guy looked at her as he would one who was deranged. He understood her reference to his leaving for a peaceful hamlet in the far reaches of the country and though it was easy enough to decipher the rest of her remarks, he was at a loss to understand where they originated. Nonetheless, he was fascinated by her outrage and could not resist needling her.

 

“Why do you care who I take to my bed?” he asked provocatively. “It seems to trouble you greatly,” he noted calmly. “You have this little furrow between your eyes, right here.” He ran a teasing finger over her forehead. “And you have dark circles under your eyes.” He smirked and she jerked her head away before he could touch the bruised skin above her cheekbones.

 

“If I did not know better, I would think that you had lost a great deal of sleep last night over my plans.”

 

“You are an egotistical brute and if I feel anything, it is sorrow for the poor girl who will be trapped by your unwelcome advances.”

 

“Perhaps she will not find them unwelcome,” he noted and he stepped closer. Marian backed away and found herself pressed against the wall. “Whether you believe it or not, many women have found themselves eager to be in my company,” he murmured.

 

Her anger flared at his words and she shoved at him. “How dare you speak to me in this manner?” she hissed. “You are a boor with no idea of how to treat a lady!”

 

Guy took another step closer until only a few inches separated them. He felt a flare of pride in her refusal to back down and gladness that her stubbornness afforded him an opportunity to stand so close.

 

“Do you really want me to treat you like a lady?” he wondered mockingly. “Or as a woman?”

 

Marian turned her head away, refusing to meet his eyes and Guy found himself almost unbearably aroused. Her cheeks were flushed with emotion and he could see the pulse thrumming in the taut vein running along the side of her exposed throat.

 

“Do you want to know what I think?” Guy took the final step that allowed his body to brush against hers. Her breasts heaved with the rapidity of her breathing and each inhalation and exhalation caused them to graze against the soft leather of his tunic.

 

“I think you are jealous.” He breathed the taunting words into her ear before catching the tip of her earlobe between his teeth.

 

He felt, rather than heard the moan that trembled through her and vibrated against his chest and he dared to go even further. Pressing his lips against the pulsating vein in her throat, he slipped one finger into the neckline of her gown, tracing the soft skin between her breasts, this time causing an audible moan to escape her.

 

“I have asked you on more than one occasion to marry me.” His mouth moved enticingly against the fragrant skin of her throat. “I have not departed yet.” He raised his head to press his cheek against hers and his words were a hot whisper in her ear. “Come away with me,” he breathed. 

 

His finger moved to trace the upper swell of one breast, startling her back into awareness. She violently shoved against both of his shoulders, the palm of one hand making contact with the still livid bruise hidden beneath his clothing. 

 

Guy reeled back in pain and Marian took the opportunity to duck away from him.

 

“How dare you,” she said on a low shriek.

 

Unapologetic, Guy stared at her from beneath hooded lids and the heavy sweep of his hair falling over his brow as he hunched over to catch his breath.

 

“I am not jealous,” she hissed. “And I do not want you to touch me!”

 

Guy gathered his pride and straightened his back. “Then you should not care who I do choose to touch,” he noted.

 

“I do not care!” she retorted.

 

“Yet even so, you seem to have an unusual interest in my private affairs.”

 

The smirk on his face drove her to act with reckless abandon. Stepping forward she rose up onto her toes until they were almost face to face.

 

“I would rather die than be with you, Guy of Gisborne.” She took a step back. “I am going to marry Robin Hood,” she said deliberately. “I love Robin Hood.” She paused to allow her words maximum effect. 

 

“I love Robin Hood.”

 

She whirled away and ran down the stairs. As she disappeared from sight, Guy slumped against the wall and let his head fall against the cool stone with an audible thunk. He was a fool, he thought, to let himself get so close to her. Because now, having had a touch and a taste of her, he knew he would be haunted forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I realize that I’ve taken some liberties with the character of Tuck as played in the television series. I have tried to maintain some of his attributes while knowingly placing him in a different set of circumstances, namely in the King’s service, rather than as a member of Robin’s gang. Again, I hope you will allow for artistic license in my use of the character in this story.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, tradition dictates that Mary appeared to St. Dominic in the twelfth century and gave to him the rosary. Close enough for my purposes here though, of course, the true history of the first appearance of the rosary is sketchy at best.
> 
>  
> 
> From the Latin Mass:
> 
>  
> 
> *Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault (Penitent)
> 
> ** May the almighty and merciful Lord grant us pardon, absolution and remission of our sins (Priest in response)


	7. Chapter 7

The afternoon found Marian on the rooftop, listlessly watching the activities of the people moving about in the courtyard below. Everything is the same color here, she thought morosely. The sand, the buildings, the dirt ─ all the same dull gold color ─ broken only by the brilliant blue dome of sky overhead. She longed for England. For the green of the grass, the blues and purples of the heather and the gray-green of the waters of the Channel. For the low-lying mists and the watery sun. For thatched roofs and white-washed buildings. She even longed for the imposing gray stone walls of Nottingham Castle.

 

Quite simply, Marian wanted to go home.

 

“Here you are!”

 

Marian turned at the sound of Robin’s voice. 

 

“Robin,” she said with a smile, happy to see him.

 

“Hello, love.” He reached for her, pulling her into an embrace and for the first time in days, Marian relaxed, enjoying the safe and comfortable familiarity of his arms.

 

“Is everything alright?” he asked. “You looked so sad for a moment.”

 

Marian shrugged. “Just a little homesick,” she admitted.

 

“I know. I miss England too,” he murmured softly. “A few more weeks,” he said in a bolstering tone, “maybe a month, and then we can go home.”

 

Marian raised her head from his shoulder. “Why the delay?” she asked cautiously, already sensing that she was not going to like the answer.

 

“Nothing is wrong,” he said reassuringly. “The King needs time to make preparations to leave.”

 

“And what does Richard have to do with our travel plans?” Again, a note of trepidation filled her voice.

 

Robin’s answering smile was brilliant and he pulled her back into his embrace. “The King has requested that I stay and help him settle things here, and then – Marian!” Joy suffused his words. “I have been tasked with confronting John and presenting him with the King’s terms!”

 

Marian wrenched out of his arms and took a stumbling step back.

 

“Marian?” Robin called to her in confusion. “What is wrong?” He reached for her hands, startled to find them ice-cold in his grip.

 

“This is a great honor for me, Marian.” He chafed her hands between his, willing his warmth into her. “It will mean good things for our future.”

 

“Robin…” Marian stared at a spot on the wall behind him, reluctant to meet his eyes for fear of what she might read in them. “Do you even want to marry me?”

 

“What?” he cried. “How can you even ask that?” Shock at her question, made him drop her hands. “Of course I want to marry you,” he said passionately. “I want that more than anything.”

 

“No,” she shook her head. “Obviously, not more than anything,” she said pointedly.

 

“I love you, Marian.”

 

“Oh, Robin,” she said in a voice tinged with regret. “I love you too, but I am afraid that our love has become more of a habit than anything else. You love me because you always have. It has become as natural to you as breathing.”

 

“Marian, you are wrong,” he cried. “I do love you,” he said ardently. “And I do want to marry you…” His voice trailed off as he finished in a whisper, “just not now”

 

She forced her lips into a smile shaded with sadness. “If you really loved me the way a man should love the woman he wishes to marry, you would not be content to wait another six to eight months,” she told him.

 

“If I asked you…” She drew in a deep breath. “If I asked you to turn down the King’s request so that we could marry as soon as we get home… would you say yes?”

 

“I… I…” Robin’s mouth gaped open for a moment and he swiped an agitated hand over his jaw. “I will marry you today,” he said fervently. “And I will take you home to Locksley and settle you there.”

 

“And will you stay with me?”

 

“I… I cannot turn the King down,” he said.

 

“You mean that you do not wish to turn his offer down,” she corrected.

 

“He does me a great honor by asking, Marian,” Robin reminded her.

 

“I know.” She lifted her hand and curved it around his cheek. “And I am so proud of you. You deserve all of the honors and accolades that he could possibly bestow upon you,” she told him truthfully.

 

Her gaze drifted away was immediately arrested by the sight of Guy and the King walking into the courtyard below.

 

“But… Robin, you are not ready to settle down and leave a life of adventure behind,” she noted quietly.

 

“And you are? I know you Marian. The girl who dashed about as the Nightwatchman is no more likely to settle into domestic contentment than I.”

 

“You are wrong,” she denied in a voice all the more compelling for the softness of her tone. “I am tired of the fighting and the worry. I am ready to live a quiet life and make a family for myself…” She lapsed into silence for a moment as she sought the right words to convey her feelings to him. 

 

“But, I want to marry a man who needs me,” she said, her eyes fixed on Guy as realization slowly dawned. “I want to marry a man who loves me more than anything else.” She felt Robin’s hand settle on the nape of her neck and she dragged her attention back to him.

 

“And, Robin, you should want the same thing for yourself,” she said as she craned her head around to look at him. 

 

Deep in his heart, Robin could not help but acknowledge her words for their truth and he felt a not wholly unwelcome weight settle onto his shoulders as the last vestiges of boyhood gave way to maturity. He graced her with his trademark smile and her answering grin had him settling his arm around her shoulders. Content, she tucked herself comfortably into the crook of his arm and rested her head just below his chin.

 

When he looked down he saw her gaze firmly affixed to the men speaking in earnest in the courtyard below and he was troubled. He did not know what would come of her seeming fascination with his dark-haired nemesis and he feared for her.

 

********

 

“I do not believe that you are well enough for such a long journey,” the King admonished Guy as they stood in the sunlit courtyard. “If you will not wait until I have concluded my business here, then at least give yourself a few more days to heal and rest before you leave.”

 

Guy gave a minute shake of his head. “If you command me to stay, you know that I will obey,” he said. “But I beg your leave to go. A ship leaves for England tomorrow and if I ride hard tonight I can make it to the port in time.”

 

Richard planted his hands on his hips and gave the other man a hard look. He was sorely tempted to do just that and order him to stay but the weary look in Guy’s eyes compelled him to relent. 

 

“Do not go so far that I am unable to find you upon my return,” the King commanded. “I do not want you disappearing into the countryside. I shall summon you to court after I am settled and I expect you to appear.”

 

“Aye, my lord. As you wish.”

 

Marian watched from above as the King turned and gestured to someone hidden in the shadows. Immediately a young boy jogged out carrying bulging saddlebags and a sheathed sword, placing both into the King’s outstretched hands. She was unable to hear any of the conversation between the two men but watching Guy strap the sword belt around his waist and accept the saddlebags, she felt her heart leap into her throat.

 

He was leaving!

 

She took a step closer to the low wall surrounding the rooftop and watched as the King drew Guy close enough to murmur something into his ear. She saw Guy’s eyes close and the barely perceptible nod he gave in response to whatever the King had said and then he stepped back and gave a formal bow.

 

She opened her mouth to call out to him but no sound would come. Guy took several long strides toward the stables when he suddenly stopped and turned. Raising his head, he looked up at the couple on the rooftop. One part of his mind idly noted what a golden pair they made, their hair and faces gilded with sunlight. He focused on Marian and holding her gaze for a long moment, raised his hand in a silent farewell before turning back toward the stables.

 

“No!” Marian pulled away from Robin’s side with a gasp and hurried toward the staircase that would lead her down to the courtyard.

 

“Marian!” Robin called sharply. “Wait!”

 

She whirled about. “Robin, please…” She silently begged for his understanding and with a heavy sigh, he waved her on. She flashed him a quick smile and she rushed down the stairs as quickly as her heavy skirts would permit. She dashed across the dusty courtyard, uncaring of the startled whispers of those she passed and staggered into the stables out of breath.

 

She took a moment for her eyes to adjust from the blinding sunlight to the dimly-lit interior of the stables before she found him. He was speaking softly to the huge black charger penned in a stall at the far end of the building and the horse whickered softly in response to whatever his master had said. She watched for a moment as Guy threw a blanket over the horse and smoothed it over the animal’s back. She broke free of her reverie and called his name when he reached for the saddle.

 

She saw him freeze and then his head fell forward for a moment as he drew in a deep breath.

 

“What is it, Marian?”

 

Her heart pounding in her chest, Marian walked slowly across the hay-strewn floor. “I… you are leaving?”

 

“There is no reason for me to stay,” he noted with a sharp nod. He struggled painfully to lift the heavy saddle over his head and onto the horse’s back.

 

“You are not yet healed,” she protested as she noted his difficulty. “You cannot even saddle your own horse!”

 

Guy did his best to ignore her as he heaved the saddle onto the stallion. “There,” he said with a hint of his trademark sneer. “I have passed your test; now perhaps I have your permission to leave?”

 

“Guy.” Marian hesitantly lifted a hand and placed it on his back. “Please do not go.”

 

She felt the shudder that passed through his body at her touch and he leaned his forehead against the horse’s neck.

 

“Marian.” His voice was muffled against the animal’s hide. “I cannot stay and watch you marry Locksley. Please do not ask it of me.”

 

“I am not.”

 

“Good,” he said as he reached beneath the animal’s belly to securely cinch the saddle in place.

 

“No.” She stepped closer until her body was just barely brushing against his. “I mean to say that I am not marrying Robin.”

 

“I do not understand.” Guy turned toward her, a bewildered expression on his face. “This morning you went to great lengths to tell me of your love for him and that you were going to marry him. And now…”

 

“It is confusing, I know,” she murmured. “I can barely explain it to myself, but we have agreed not to marry.”

 

“At this time,” he said seeking to clarify her meaning.

 

“Likely never,” she said with a wistful sigh for the demise of her girlhood dreams.

 

As the mournful sound escaped her, Guy leaned closer, studying her face for signs of heartbreak.

 

“Did he hurt you?” he asked grimly.

 

“No.” She laid a reassuring hand on his wrist. “It is more likely that I hurt him,” she admitted.

 

He cast a beseeching glance about him as if the answers to her secrets lay in the dusty corners of the stable.

 

“What are you saying, Marian?”

 

She tipped her head back and looked up into his face, a pleading look in her eyes. “Please do not leave me,” she implored. “If you must go, then take me with you.”

 

“Marian!” He pushed away from her and the stallion’s feet danced nervously at the sharp tone of his master’s voice. Guy laid a soothing hand on the beast’s neck and he quieted instantly under the gentle touch.

 

“Is it your intent to drive me completely mad?” Guy hissed as he stalked away from her. “One minute you are scorning my touch, declaring that you would prefer death rather than be with me and the next you are begging me prettily to take you with me? What game are you playing, Marian?”

 

She moved toward him again, her hands held out in supplication. “I do not know that I understand it myself,” she admitted. “The only thing I do know is that the thought that I may never see you again leaves me with a gaping hole here.” She pressed a clenched fist against her heart. “And that the idea of you loving and marrying another leaves me ill.” Her hand dropped to knead against her stomach.

 

She stepped closer and boldly laying her other hand on his chest, felt his heart pounding beneath his breastbone. “Ask me again,” she whispered. “Please ask me again. And take me home.”

 

“What do you want of me?” he asked brokenly. “I have nothing left to give you.”

 

“I want you,” she sighed. “And everything you ever promised me.” Her hand slid up to cup his cheek in her palm. “Please, Guy,” she begged. “Please do not leave me.”

 

“Marian.” He drew her close and nestled her against his chest. “Do you mean it?” he asked. 

 

“Yes.” She nodded her head, her hair catching in the metal clasps of his jacket. 

 

“Thank God,” he groaned in a voice thick with emotion.

 

She closed her eyes and tentatively wound her arms around him, reveling in the thunder of his heart beneath her ear. And there they stood peacefully for long moments as dust motes danced and swirled about them in the shafts of sunlight pouring through the slatted roof.

 

Guy cupped her face between palms roughened by years of wielding a sword and the reins of a horse and tipped it up to his. His thumbs played rhythmically over the soft skin of her cheeks and though his expression was marred with troubled confusion, in his eyes she saw a spark of hope.

 

“Will you not kiss me, my lord?” she whispered as she lifted her face encouragingly toward his.

 

A smile flirted with the corners of his mouth before he lowered it to meet hers. His lips glanced off hers once, twice and she twined her arms around his neck in a bid to get closer. He rolled his mouth teasingly over the bow of her upper lip and plucked the plump fullness of her lower lip between both of his before releasing her.

 

Marian’s head fell weakly back on her shoulders and she lifted heavy lids to peer at him from beneath thick lashes. Her tongue darted out to lick her lower lip as if to gather the taste of him and Guy’s control snapped at her innocently offered provocation.

 

He banded his arms tightly around her waist and hauled her up onto the tips of her toes. His lips raced over her face, glancing off her nose, her cheeks and forehead, but always, always returning for taste after taste of her mouth. He caught her top lip between his teeth, nipping gently and when her mouth opened on a tiny gasp, he deepened the kiss.

 

He could not get enough of her and he tore his mouth from hers and buried his face in the fragrant warmth of her throat. He used his weight to propel her backward until she was pinned between his strong body and the wall, freeing his hands. He had to touch her, he thought madly; had to feel the silk of her skin beneath his hands.

 

“God… Guy,” she cried as he pushed and tugged at the neckline of her dress until he had bared one shoulder. Immediately his mouth descended to kiss and nip at the exposed skin and she groaned low in her throat, her head falling to one side to allow him easier access. She strained upward on her toes, one arm wrapped tightly around his neck and she was not sure if she was trying to crawl up his body or find a way to burrow into him. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was unable to get close enough. And that she had never felt this way before him.

 

“Guy,” she moaned again plaintively, begging him for relief of the ache building deep within her.

 

The sound of her voice snapped him back to reality and he reluctantly forced himself to slow down. She was not some wench to be taken in a moment’s passion in a dusty stable where anyone could happen upon them at any moment.

 

Guy righted her clothes with unsteady hands and pressed his lips to her brow. Once again, he drew her against his chest, cuddling her close. He stroked his hand over her back, soothing them both until their racing hearts slowed and their breathing steadied.

 

“Marian.” Guy’s voice was a warm whisper against her temple. “Will you marry me?” 

 

Marian took a step back and lowered her gaze to the stable floor. Guy anxiously held his breath, fear beating a terrible drumbeat in his stomach as he awaited her response. She clasped his hand in both of hers and raised it her mouth, pressing a trembling kiss against his knuckles.

 

“Marian.” His breath escaped him on a long sigh. “My Marian.”

 

She looked up then and the expression on his face was so tender, so suffused with love that she could not help but answer it with a blindingly hopeful smile of her own. “Yes, she breathed. “I will marry you.”

 

Guy reached out and absently twined her thick tail of hair around his fist until he was cupping the nape of her neck in his hand.

 

“The advantage to this marriage is all mine,” he whispered. “I receive land, a title… and the woman I love beyond all reason,” he told her. “What lies in this for you?” His eyes begged for a response that would put all of this to rights.

 

Marian threaded her own fingers through his hair and stretched up onto the tips of her toes as she tugged his face down to hers.

 

“I get a husband… who loves me beyond all reason,” she told him with a soft smile. “Tis so much more than most women can boast.” She released his hair to twine her arm around his neck. “I cannot promise that we will not argue,” she told him. “But I will be a good wife,” she promised. “You will have no reason for regret.”

 

The smile slid from her face to be replaced by a more solemn expression. “Will that be enough for you?” she asked quietly.

 

Guy looked deeply into her eyes and whatever he saw there must have pleased him for the smile that broke out of his face was joyous and pure and in it she caught a glimpse of who he must have been as a younger man before duty and responsibility had weighted him down.

 

“Tis plenty,” he assured her and lifted her off her feet to twirl her in celebration before setting her down and crowding her back into a corner.

 

“Will you kiss me?” he asked, “and seal the bargain?”

 

Marian raised her mouth to his, parting her lips invitingly. 

 

“Gladly, my lord,” she giggled until his descending mouth silenced her laughter.


	8. Chapter 8

The wedding had taken place earlier that day and now Marian was ensconced in the bridal chamber she would share with her husband from this night forward.

 

Husband. The word alone was enough to send frissons of nerves and excitement racing through her body.

 

Marian flitted about the room as she waited, one moment perching on the edge of the bed; the next pacing about. Sitting now, she poured a small measure of wine into a waiting chalice and took a sip of the ruby colored liquid, enjoying the wine’s tang as it slid over her tongue. It reminded her of the spiced wine she had shared with Guy earlier in the day during the wedding ceremony and brought a secret smile to her lips as she remembered the intensity of his gaze when he had accepted the chalice from her hands.

 

Too anxious now to remain seated, she popped off the bed and roamed about the room, making adjustments here and there as she went. She opened the shutters on the windows, allowing a soft breeze to drift into the room and then poked at the low-burning flames in the fireplace meant to ward off the slight chill of the late summer evening. She wandered back to the bed to straighten the blankets and fluff the pillows and buried her face in the bouquet of flowers gracing a table near the bed. 

 

Her wedding dress lay draped across a chair on the other side of the room and she drifted toward it to run her fingers across the fabric. She had hated to remove the dress and even now lifted it and held it in front of her as she dreamily studied her wavering reflection in the clouded mirror. She smoothed her hand over the sumptuous pale blue fabric and gave a private smile at the memory of Guy’s expression when he had first laid eyes on her outside of the church. No veil had obscured her face for this ceremony and instead she had met him with tiny flowers scattered and woven through her hair. 

 

Her maid had helped her undress after the wedding feast and had convinced Marian to leave the flowers in her hair. She tipped her head from side to side now, enjoying the effect of the small white blossoms against her dark hair

 

Marian gently laid her wedding gown on the chair and returned to the bed. She reached again for the chalice and took another small sip of wine and as she replaced the cup on the table, the candlelight caught on her ring. Admiring the wide gold band with its intricately carved Celtic knots and the delicate emeralds set in the center of each knot she ran her thumb over the rough surface of the ring and wondered when her hand would become accustomed to its weight.

 

Where was he, she wondered impatiently.

 

She took a deep breath and leaning against the pillows, closed her eyes and reflected back on all of the things that had happened from that day in the stable to bring them to this day.

 

Guy had wanted them to marry that day in the Holy Land, she remembered…

 

“The King has a man in his retinue,” he had told her. “A friar named Tuck. He can marry us today.” 

 

Marian had dug her heels into the hay covered floor when he tried with great determination to pull her toward the stable doors. 

 

“There is no need to rush.” She had stepped close and laid a hand on his chest. “I know that I have given you little cause in the past to trust my promises, but I vow that I will marry you.”

 

Guy had nodded slowly but she could see a vestige of doubt glimmering in his eyes. “Then why must we wait?”

 

Marian had taken a look around the dusty stable and through the doors to the sun-washed courtyard beyond.

 

“I do not want to marry here,” she had told him. “I wish to marry at home, surrounded by the familiar and the dear. Can you understand?” She had tipped her face up to his with a pleading expression.

 

“If we ride hard tonight…” he had said slowly. “There is a ship leaving port for England tomorrow midday. There is a chance that we could still make it.”

 

“Is that where you were going?” She had cast a glance at the saddled horse. “Home?”

 

He had lifted a hesitant hand to her cheek, still unable to believe that he had the right to touch her. 

 

“Until this day, I have had little reason to find pleasure in this place.” His face had been solemn but his eyes had been alight with love. 

 

Understanding, she had smiled softly and felt herself bold as she stepped closer until she was resting against him. She felt his chest rise and fall in a deep sigh as he dropped his cheek against the crown of her head and encircled her with his arms…

 

She could not remember now how long they had stood in that stable but she remembered it as the first time she had felt truly at ease with her decision to marry Guy.

 

Marian rolled onto her side and drew a pillow into her arms, thinking it a poor substitute for the husband who kept her waiting. Although waiting for what she was not wholly sure.

 

Though her mother had died long before she could share her womanly wisdom with her daughter, Marian nonetheless had a fairly good idea of what was to happen on her wedding night. Was it possible, she wondered, to be both fearful and impatient at once? It seemed it was so as she bounced from roiling nerves to pleasant anticipation with every beat of her heart. Taking measured breaths intended to calm her, she allowed her mind to wander down random paths, again journeying back to those weeks they had remained in the Holy Land with the King. 

 

In that time, Guy had found inventive ways for them to be alone and now her anticipation was at a fever pitch. She had been a willing participant when he would lure her into quiet corners and she had happily spent long hours whispering to him in the dark and being the eager recipient of his kisses. And sweet Jesu, she thought, but the man had a skilled mouth. The memory of his heated kisses caused an inexplicable ache deep within her. Marian did not pretend that she was not nervous about sharing Guy’s bed, but she secretly admitted to herself that she was excited about the prospect of finally and fully becoming his wife. She knew there had to be more to what she felt when she was in his arms – and she was eager to find out what it was.

 

She snuggled her cheek more deeply into the pillow and felt her eyes flutter closed. She gave a halfhearted effort to waking herself, but the wine and the excitement of the long day worked against her and she lay there drifting in a place somewhere between sleep and wakefulness which was how Guy found her when he had finally freed himself from the King and other wedding revelers. He stifled the sigh of disappointment at finding his bride asleep and fought the urge to make a sharp noise in order to rouse her.

 

Instead he settled into a chair near the bed and quietly worked the leather boots from his feet. Sinking back into the chair, he watched her sleep. Though he made no sound, Guy silently willed her to awaken. After a few minutes, her lashes fluttered and she blinked at him sleepily. Pleased that she seemed to be attuned to his thoughts, even in slumber, his mouth quirked into a smile, and her lips tipped upward in a drowsy response. 

 

“You are here,” she whispered.

 

“Indeed.” 

 

His low murmur seemed to penetrate the fog that had engulfed her and she sat up, pushing a flustered hand through her curls, dislodging a few blossoms which fluttered onto the tangled sheets. Self-conscious that she appeared overanxious for his attentions, Marian popped out of the bed and refilled the chalice with wine in order to give her hands something to do.

 

Unaware of the way in which the delicate fabric of her chemise both shadowed and highlighted the secrets of her body from her husband’s gaze, she crossed the short distance between them and placed the chalice into his waiting hands. Guy took a steadying sip of the wine, seeking to control the rampaging need building within him. Brooding over the rim of the cup, he watched Marian move about the room, blowing out the candles scattered throughout and marveled at the contrast between the demure neckline and fitted sleeves of her chemise and the manner in which it molded itself to his wife’s breasts and belly. Though she was covered from collar to ankles, it was the tantalizing glimpses of what lay beneath the filmy material which caused his blood to heat to a flashpoint.

 

“Not all of them,” he ordered in a husky voice.

 

Poised with her hands raised to hold her hair away from her face as she blew out another candle, she turned to face him with wide eyes. He was sprawled in the chair, his jacket open and feet bare. Taking another sip of wine, he watched her with hooded eyes.

 

“Do not douse all of the candles,” he murmured. “I wish to be able to see you tonight.”

 

Marian barely stifled a gasp as she felt her womb clench in response to the demanding rasp of his voice.

 

He held out one hand. “Come here.” 

 

Taking a deep breath, she crossed to him. He drew her between his spread legs and ran his hands over her back and hips and down her arms. He skimmed his fingers over the soft skin of her throat and felt her swallow hard with either nerves or excitement. Perhaps both, he thought. He stroked gentle fingers over her breasts and cradled their weight in his palms through the sheer fabric of her chemise. Cupping her hips between his strong hands, he pulled her closer so that he could bury his face against her stomach and she could feel his hot moist breath heating her skin and dampening the delicate fabric, turning it transparent.

 

Marian’s hands, which had been braced stiffly on his shoulders, slid through the silk of his hair as she cradled him against her and they stayed there for a moment or two, allowing the tranquility of the moment to calm them both.

 

At last, Guy rose to his feet. He took her face between his palms and lowered his mouth to hers for their first kiss since they had become husband and wife. His mouth moved with gentle slowness over hers and though he had long become familiar with every dip and curve of her lips, he gladly – slowly - thoroughly - reacquainted himself with her taste. At last he raised his head and tenderly smoothed the hair from her face, wanting to take this evening slowly and be the gentle, considerate husband Marian deserved on this first night together. 

 

Her head lolled back on her shoulders and the smile she graced him with was at once innocent and seductive and feeling his control strain almost to the breaking point, Guy yanked her flush against his body.

 

“God. Marian,” he said on a low growl. “I need… please.” Wide-eyed, she looked up at him, her expression both anxious and trusting. Summoning just enough restraint so as not to frighten her with his all-encompassing desire, he whispered to her of his love as he gave in to his need to touch her.

 

Rather than pulling the chemise over her head, Guy hooked two fingers into neckline and began to tug it down her shoulders, exposing her flesh to his wandering lips. She cried out when his tongue dipped into the hollows of her collarbone before lapping at the tender indentation at the base of her throat. He continued pulling at the fabric of her chemise, working it down her arms until it caught on the upper swells of her breasts.

 

He buried his face between her breasts and she marveled at the silken feeling of his hair brushing against her sensitive skin. His relentless tugging caused the fabric of her gown to slip even lower and he gave a triumphant cry when one breast was finally, fully revealed to him.

 

He lifted his head to meet her gaze. A flush rode high on his cheekbones and his breath came in unsteady pants and she knew that he was caught in the same fever as she. Marian threaded her fingers through his hair and waited… for what exactly she did not know.

 

Then his mouth was gliding over her breast, his tongue tracing the paths made by the bluish veins barely visible though the near translucent skin until his lips closed over the nipple drawing it to a tight peak in the wet heat of his mouth.

 

Her knees buckled and if it was not for his strong arm wrapped around her waist, she would have fallen. “Do not stop,” she groaned as she tangled her fingers in his hair seeking somehow to draw him even closer.

 

His caresses were hot and greedy one moment, lazy and torturous the next as he moved from one breast to the other and she was lost in a confusing haze of desire and need, rubbing her body against the hard edges and angles of his in a mindless search for relief.

 

And then, all at once, it was too much and she tore herself from his arms and took a few stumbling steps back. Her chest heaved as if she had run a great distance. His disheveled hair had fallen into his face and he stood poised like a predator, ready to jump at his prey at any moment. His gaze roved over her from head to foot and she became acutely aware that her chemise lay in a pool of fabric near his feet. 

 

He moved forward, slowly stalking her and again she retreated until her back came into contact with the wall. He continued toward her inexorably until she was trapped between him and the wall. She shivered as his fingers skimmed over her, the calloused palms reaching behind her to cup the tender flesh of her rear and pull her against his straining body. She quivered, unbelievably aroused by the rough scrape of his hands and clothing against her bare skin.

 

“Please, Marian.” His breath was hot against her ear. “Please touch me,” he pleaded as he yanked his shirt from the waistband of his trousers. She slid her hands under his shirt and stroked them over the satiny warmth of his back. Guy groaned deep in his throat and he buried his face in her hair for a moment before he leaned back just far enough to put a little distance between their upper bodies. Clasping her hand in his, he raised it to the tie at the neck of his clothing.

 

“Undress me,” he whispered urgently as his hands fell to her hips, gently kneading her rounded flesh with his strong fingers.

 

She set her own trembling fingers to work, picking at the knot in the tie and then slowly unthreaded each lacing from the grommets in his shirt. When she was finished she gathered the fabric and tugged upward. Guy’s hands fell from her hips as he raised his arms over his head so that she could peel the shirt away.

 

Marian’s lips parted as she was greeted with the sight of his bare chest. Just as on that night at Locksley long ago, he was gilded golden by the firelight and just as before, she raised a trembling hand toward his muscled chest; only this time there was nothing to prevent her from touching him.

 

Guy dropped his forehead onto her shoulder with a loan groan as her hands glided with innocent eagerness over his skin and Marian suddenly became away of the power she wielded over her husband. She reveled in the shudders that wracked his powerful body when she pressed an open-mouthed kiss over his heart and when her tongue darted experimentally over one flat nipple his reaction was violent as he pushed her into the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of her lungs.

 

“Marian,” he gasped as he slid one hand behind her knee to raise her leg over his hip and grind himself into her. Marian eagerly exposed her throat to his feasting mouth as her head fell against the wall with an audible thud. Behind closed eyes her world tilted as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. They sank together into the soft fullness of the feather-filled mattress and Guy settled into the cradle of her hips with a barely stifled grunt of pleasure.

 

“Open your eyes,” he instructed. Marian dragged open heavy lids to reveal eyes clouded with desire. She did not understand why the sight and feel of her pale limbs draped over his leather-clad hips and legs should arouse her so unbearably and the intensity of her feelings were heightened as he began to move against her.

 

His hands under her hips encouraged her to match his languid movements. Each time she sought to quicken the pace, his hands were there to soothe her back into the leisurely rhythm he had set. Marian tossed her head against the pillow as a strange tension built and coiled within her and she looked up at him with wide eyes, frightened by the unfamiliarity of the all-encompassing need consuming her.

 

“Shh,” he whispered. “Do not fight it.” His beard roughened jaw scraped against her tender skin as he lowered his mouth to her breast. “Just let go,” he murmured as he laved the tight peak with his tongue.

 

And then suddenly she was flying as the tension burst within her spreading heat from the tips of her fingers to her toes. She clung to him in a four-limbed embrace before collapsing into the mattress, her arms and legs falling away as a delicious lethargy stole over her.

 

“Marian.” He shifted impatiently over her. “Do not go to sleep,” he admonished. “We are not finished.

 

She moaned softly, unwilling to leave behind the pleasant exhaustion weighting her limbs. But his persistent calling of her name finally pierced the delightful haze and she forced her eyes open to blink at him owlishly. 

 

“There you are.” He lowered his mouth to nibble at hers and she gave a low hum of pleasure at the taste of him. She slowly became aware again of the insistent movements of his body against hers and she shifted beneath him, experimentally arching her hips to meet his. Twins gasps of pleasure sounded as hard met yielding softness and they worked together to rid him of the clothing still separating their bodies.

 

Once again, Guy stretched out above her. Propping his weight up on his elbows, he scraped curling tendrils of hair away from her face, idly playing with the tiny blossoms woven into her dark tresses.

 

“Trust me,” he said as he twined his fingers with hers and stretched their linked hands on the mattress above her head. She nodded in silent response though her nervousness was evident in her wide-eyed gaze and the quick, shallow breaths she took. 

 

Though every cell in his body was clamoring for release, Guy forced himself not to rush. His kisses were long and slow, deep and wet, drugging in their intensity and only when her hips rose insistently against his did he move to join himself to her.

 

Marian broke their kiss with a surprised gasp as she felt the first burning, stretching sensation of the invasion of his body into hers and she squirmed beneath him, unsure if she was trying to get away from him or closer to him.

 

“Trust me,” he murmured again as he moved inexorably forward until they were fully joined. Half mad with the desire to take his own pleasure, Guy ruthlessly harnessed his own raging needs. A long moment passed as he felt her relax by slow increments. 

 

It seemed to Marian as though both an eternity had passed and time had flashed by as she took the final step from girl to woman. Now, pressed into the bedclothes by Guy’s weight, the stinging pain receded to be replaced by a sense of delicious fullness and she dragged her eyes open to look at him.

 

“Now, I am a wife,” she whispered.

 

“Now, you are mine.” His hands tightened possessively on hers and he drove more deeply into her, drawing a startled gasp from her and the answering pulse of her hips against him and he groaned in triumph as she began to rise and fall beneath him in an instinctive response to his movements.

 

He held back, intent on her pleasure, releasing her hands when they strained and flexed against his with her own need to touch him. His gaze remained locked on her face and only when her eyes lost focus and her mouth opened on a serrated cry did he bury his face in her neck and let himself go.

 

*************

 

Marian awoke as the pearly light of the growing dawn slowly erased the darkness from their chamber. Her husband lay on his side, curled toward her, one strong hand wrapped possessively around the smooth skin of her thigh. She sat up cautiously, careful not to awaken him. A soft smile trembled on her lips as she studied his face, for never before had she seen his expression so relaxed. Unable to resist the urge, she traced a gentle finger over the chiseled line of his jaw before trailing her hand down his throat to settle on his chest where she could feel the steady thrum of his heart beneath her palm.

 

As if aware of her scrutiny, Guy shifted with a minute rustle of the bedclothes. He blinked, raising his gaze to hers with a sleepy smile.

 

“Good morning,” she whispered with an answering grin as she idly sifted her fingers through the silk of his hair, stroking it away from his face.

 

‘I love you,’ he mouthed soundlessly. He pressed a kiss against her knee then laid his head on her thigh. His eyes slid closed again in drowsy contentment and Marian felt her heartbeat thud heavily behind her breast in response. Confused, she continued to play with his hair all the while wondering why his silent vow should bring the sting of tears to her eyes and an aching lump to her throat.

 

And then… suddenly she knew and the smile that burst forth across her face was the carefree smile of her younger days before grief and war had left their weary mark on her. And this smile – which spoke of contentment and joy – was evident in her voice as she curled her body over her husband’s and laid her lips against his ear.

 

“I love you too.”

 

End


End file.
